Perhaps He Did Not
by Teller1789
Summary: Holmes is deceived. The consequences are possibly dire.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is not meant to be a death story per se. However, if death stories trouble I would exercise caution in continuing. **

Holmes stood smugly over the blackguard. The Villain had a black eye, a bruised ego.

"Where is Elise?" the man asked and blood welled lightly at the corner of his lip.

Holmes's gray eyes narrowed, their flame dwindling to glowing ash.

"She is safely away from you." Holmes said. His voice was flat, bored. Already, he had moved on. Overall, the case was a disappoint. Hardly _Strand _material.

"I never hurt her. I would never hurt Elise." The beaten man argued more vehemently. Though Holmes had spent most of his years pruning needless, illogical emotion, he was rather adept at recognizing its sincerity in others. He was a keen observer of humanity, if not a common member of it.

"Your sister was quite clear in her description of the circumstances. An admirable trait, straightforwardness." Holmes looked down his hawkish nose at the ruffian. Violence for its own sake was a detestable vice, one misused by those too weak and cowardly to wield Reason instead of their fists.

"Is that what she told you, that she was my sister?" The man asked and then _laughed_.


	2. Chapter 2

Watson led Ms. Elise up the stairs of 221B to the flat's sitting room. She would be safe from her brother here.

"Mrs. Hudson will bring up tea shortly." Watson reassured the young woman. He laid his service revolver on the desk and limped towards the fireplace, stirring up the embers. It was so dreadfully cold outside.

"I do not feel safe here." The young woman said. Her voice was calm despite her nervous words. She was a sturdy girl. Watson suspected her restrained demeanor was one of the main reasons Holmes had decided to take her case.

"I can ensure your safety." Watson turned from the fireplace and inclined his head to indicate the revolver on the desk.

"I am a proficient shot."

Ms. Elise tipped her head to the side. Her eyes looked altered in the firelight. Darker, deeper, more shadowed.

"My brother knows of you and Mr. Holmes. He knows this place. May we at least go to the park? I would feel safer in a crowded place. He is a coward, Doctor, and less likely to harm either of us if there are others to see." Ms. Elise straightened her neck and her eyes slipped further away in the dusk of the room.

Watson considered for a moment. It would do no harm to honor the lady's request. Holmes had most assuredly caught up with the Villain by now and the bitter air might distract Ms. Elise from her concerns.

"Let me get my overcoat." Watson said, kindly. He moved to the far end of the room, to the door where he had hung the garment upon his entry. His progress was slowed by his leg, aching still from the weather. It would surely cause him even greater trouble after their foray into the neighborhood park.

Watson pulled on his coat, his scarf, and was adjusting his bowler when he heard a distinct _click_ behind him. It was soft but unmistakable to his ear: hollow sounding but weighty with connotation.

_Afghanistan. _

_Blood. _

_Death. _


	3. Chapter 3

"What is your meaning?" Holmes demanded sharply.

"She is not my sister, Detective." The last word was an insult. The man added injury: "You have left your Boswell with my fiancé. He is dead, surely."

Holmes grabbed the man's collar. The ruffian was pushed against the brick wall. Red dust smudged like blood's shadow on his coattails, rubbing off from the force with which he was being pressed into the uneven stones.

"Tell me." Holmes demanded. The Villain felt suddenly enlightened, powerful with realization. Sherlock Holmes was only a man. He deserved to know the depth of his miscalculation, the cost of his failure.

"I believe," he said, "that my Elise has come closer to your heart than any woman before and is, as we speak, making sure that _his_ never beats again."

Holmes snarled. His eyes were fluid with memory, fear, loneliness; the same petrified color as the winter air.

"You do not understand the consequences of what you boast." Holmes said.

The man realized that perhaps he did not.


	4. Chapter 4

"I am sincerely saddened by this, Doctor. It is a lamentable end." Ms. Elise's young, eloquent voice said behind him. Watson did not turn around; he could feel the weight of the revolver's aim across the center of his back.

"You know how to use it?" Watson asked. He was curious, not terrified. She was yet a lady.

"John taught me." She said, naming her brother and the man she claimed had threatened her.

"He is not your brother." Watson said. A deduction. Perhaps not up to Holmesian standards, but admirable under the circumstances. Still, he did not turn around.

"He is my fiancé." Ms. Elise said. Then softly, honestly. "I love him."

"You would commit murder for him." Watson said. He did not feel fear, only disbelief. Truly it was absurd, too melodramatic for even his tastes.

"He was to go away with me. That was before Mr. Holmes began his investigation. We will go away yet. We will be married. I must simply remove the obstacles." Ms. Elise said. Though Watson could not see it, he felt her finger press more aggressively against the trigger.

"You hesitate." Watson said, voice gentle. "You are not a killer."

"I am whatever John needs me to be." Ms. Elise said. For the first time, her voice shook. Her words were flighty, loose, and fragile. Completely devoid of sanity's weight. Watson could push right through her voice, splinter its sound. For the first time, he was afraid.

"It is for love. There is no more divine thing." She said, and pulled the trigger.


End file.
